In Audible. I have it in hardcover too.
I’ve read it and listened to it. Narrated by Thomas Hunt Length: 15 hrs and 16 mins
Jasper Fforde has written some of the funniest books I’ve ever read. You know, the kind of book you read in bed, but you are laughing so hard it makes your partner wake up and irritably ask what the hell you are laughing at?
This book has moments of humor and once in a while, a chuckle. There’s no hilarity, however. Overall, there’s a seriousness to this story that none of his other books have had. This isn’t so much humor as it is a warning about where our climate is going and who is running our world. I don’t know which is more terrifying: the obvious sub-arctic winters in Scotland … or the death grip the mighty “pharma” company has on all humankind.
There are fighters against big pharma and the corporate grip the company holds over everyone. For reasons you will have to read the book to understand, it isn’t easy to figure out who is the good guy or who is the bad guy. There’s not “history” about how the world got to this place, but if you have been reading even the headlines, it isn’t hard to put it together.
This is science fiction, except … it’s not all that far-fetched. Sometimes, I found myself not merely listening to the story but worrying if this is just a story or this is the real future history of my Earth — unless we DO something about it. Like … NOW.
Of course, it’s beautifully written because everything Jasper Fforde has written is wonderful, though I still am in love with Thursday Next.
I do recommend this book very highly, but I have to warn you — it isn’t like his other books. It isn’t hilarious and sometimes, it’s pretty serious. But he’s telling us a story that I think we need to think about … while being well-entertained. Just so you know, this does take place in the future, so it actually is science fiction. Not your usual sci-fi, however.
Is this science fiction or is it our science future? I think you will have to decide for yourself.
I have mixed emotions about the narrator. He was good … but I think I’d have preferred a deeper voice? Or maybe I’m just being overly picky.
White with black primaries. Often rust-stained from feeding in muddy or iron-rich waters.
She checked “snow goose” from her “life list” of viewed birds. It was among the last of the remaining ones. She stood in the marsh, up to her shins in the same brown mud that had stained the lower feathers of her snow goose. She wondered if the world would last long enough for her to make the rest of her life list birds … or even if the birds would last long enough for her to put that check mark there.
She packed up her gear. Put away her glasses, her camera, and her book. It was a newer book because the birds had moved around. Many were gone, others no longer migrated or lived only in very small areas and distant from her.
And then, she walked back to her car. She had found her snow goose. As for the rest? It was all far too big for her … a world-class problem. Meanwhile, it was a very long drive back to civilization.
NOTES ABOUT THE PICTURE:
The big male goose (there was another one, the slightly smaller female who was taking on other geese in another part of the lake (these birds mate for life as do geese) was attacking the geese who had taken their nest on the little island.
You won’t see geese and swans sharing a lake. Or, for that matter, herons who are equally possessive about”their” space. The geese were trying to move in and had stolen the swan’s nest They probably had eaten the eggs by then, too. That’s what big birds do to stop the encroachment of other large birds.
Geese and swan do NOT get along at all. It’s a kill or be-killed thing going on. A pity for us, because the lake is more than big enough for both, but they will not share it and the herons have the river and don’t come to the lake.
Ducks are every bird’s pal, oddly enough — but geese, swans, and herons are enemies. That had been a swan’s nest, We had watched them build it. There were no cygnets that year.
I couldn’t see what was going on, but I knew something was. It was on the other side of the lake. All I could see was white feathers and something happening, but the battle had underway for hours. Both swans had been patrolling, but the geese kept popping up.
Canada Geese are much faster than mute swans and surprisingly strong for their weight, but a full-grown Swan is MUCH bigger and stronger. They can’t take off and fly as the geese do — they are too heavy and need a lot of runway to get into the air, which is why they walk around lakes while the geese fly. So give it to the geese for mobility, but for sheer strength, swans have it.
The swans won ultimately.
As for me, I set the camera on “all the way out” and shot. I didn’t know what I had until I put the pictures in the computer. My eyes don’t do that well. The far side of the lake is too far for my eyes even with my “long distance” glasses on, but the lens got it.
We think only people fight, but animals have their lines drawn too.
He had been in the business for almost 40 years. The last twenty-seven of those with the same company. He liked his job and thought he was good at it. In just a few more years he would retire. Everything seemed to be on track.
When Carl started in his career, orders were processed with typewriters. Carbon paper was used when multiple copies were required. Details of international orders were sent overseas by telex machine. Everything was done manually and file cabinets were stuffed with files of all the orders and shipments.
Carl made it through all the changes. At first, he thought an electronic typewriter with memory was just about the coolest thing. Fax machines took the place of telex machines and worldwide communication was getting easier. As the decades went on, technology and communications advanced faster and faster, but Carl kept right up with everything. You could never say that Carl was behind the times.
Despite the efficiency of his work life, the same could not be said of Carl’s personal life until recent years. Only as retirement thoughts started weighing on his mind did Carl pay attention to his accounts. For the last few years, he contributed to the 401K plan. He even took out some small CDs for better interest return, since savings and checking accounts returned him only pennies per month, literally.
Then came the problems of advancing age. Bifocals were no longer good enough to do his job. He was recommended to get trifocals but opted for a second pair of glasses — just to see the computer. His hands were stiff and sore and he needed medication for that.
Nerve pain in the feet demanded a drug as did high cholesterol. His blood tests never satisfied his doctor and even when he felt well, there were many pills to take. With all these issues, Carl still carried on in grand fashion and handled his job like a pro.
When Carl got a new boss, they seemed to get along well. She appeared to appreciate his experience and they often had nice little chats. When Carl asked if he could come in late so he could have his annual physical, his boss seemed disappointed. He assured her he would make up the time during the week and she finally voiced approval.
The doctor’s visit showed the usual issues, but also “abnormal cells in undetermined significance.” Carl was referred to a specialist and he had to ask for another morning off. The boss looked quite perturbed when she said: “OK if you must.” Unfortunately for Carl, he did, in fact, feel he must see the doctor.
The specialist was a handsome young man with a sunny disposition. He indicated all the dire situations that may be happening with such a cute smile, Carl still felt at ease. His examination and subsequent biopsy lead to “dysplasia but cells are undetermined.” Carl was recommended to a surgeon.
Again, Carl asked for a morning off. The stares of the boss led Carl to say he would make up his time the same week and he would not ask for any more time off in the coming months. He was greeted with a long and painful silence. “Fine,” the boss stated with an air of exasperation.
The following day was a Wednesday and Carl worked hard all day under the glares of his much younger boss. Whenever Carl looked around, she seemed to be nearby staring at him. Needless to say, it was a rather uncomfortable day. Normally, Carl had pleasant days and nice little chats with coworkers. He never got close to any of them or saw them socially. One young man loved having random little conversations with Carl about anything every day, but he was the only friend if you could call him that. Carl was just at work to do his job.
At the end of that day, just past 5 pm, the facilities manager, the superior to Carl’s boss, invited Carl down to her office for a chat. When he got there his boss was already seated and staring at the floor. The facilities manager began.
“Carl, you know we think you have been doing excellent work for us for many years but…” Then there was a long pause while the manager looked for the words. “Well, business has fallen off some. The stronger dollar means weaker business. We are well behind budget for the year and we must eliminate a position. I am sorry, but we have to let you go.”
Carl was dumbfounded. He planned to work another two or three years and retire. He was not ready for this. His boss continued to look at the floor when the manager spoke up again. She explained about the last paycheck, vacation pay, Cobra insurance, unemployment. She said she would write a nice letter of recommendation. She closed by saying she was sorry, it was not personal, it was just economics. She thanked him for his years of service. His boss continued to stare at the floor.
He returned to his desk, took a few personal items while his bossed hovered nearby and he was then prepared to leave. That’s when she came over and asked for his badge and ID and walked away. “What was that?” a longtime female coworker asked. “I was fired,” he replied. The coworker started to cry. Carl quietly said goodbye, looked around for his young friend, who was already gone, and he left.
After a few days of reviewing jobs online and making a few calls, Carl saw it would be difficult at his age and salary range to find a new position. That night, he lined up all of his prescriptions on the kitchen table, including the container of powerful painkillers for his hand pain. Next, he got a bottle of one of his favorite wines, appropriately chilled. He opened the wine, poured himself a glass and sat down at the kitchen table. There he looked over the table and contemplated his future.
Often, through the endless winter, Maggie had been sure her garden would never bloom again. As the frozen ground showed no signs of softening in spring sunshine and clumps of dirty brown snow lay on the earth, she would look at the garden and think: “This year, it can’t bloom. Too cold for too long. Too much ice and snow. And I have not been able to work with it, either.”
The overgrown disorder of the last year’s growth was still thatched across the garden. It had rained so much last year they’d been unable to clear it, so it had stayed there, mulching its way through the winter as they mulched with it.
Despite this and her nearly terminal certainty of imminent doom and total destruction, the garden would suddenly return. Everything bloomed at once. Roses and rhododendrons and daylilies and even the daffodils and columbine.
Flowers suddenly bloomed. In some of the worst years when winter had lain on the ground through most of May, those awful, bitter winters? In those years, the garden would bloom all at once with a frantic and wild passion as if it making up for the lost weeks of normal growth, for the dead months when they had been unable to set a single bud.
One day, she would come downstairs and out the gate and gasp at the amazing colors, how the roses had covered the buses like blankets. That the holly was almost a full story tall and even the miniature lilac bushes and thrown a flower or two.
It gave her hope in a world where the sun rarely shined and she prayed only that the well would not be polluted from something poured into the ground, seeping slowly into that fragile layer of underground water.
Their source of life was down there. In her case more than 450 feet down there, one of the deepest wells in the area. Their water had always been clear and ice-cold after it rose from the underlying rocks.
Was this barrenness a forerunner to one more garden? One more summer when the heat didn’t burn the earth to cinders?
She could only watch and wait. Each year was different. One year, it never stopped raining and after a while, the ground felt like a giant sponge, soft and gooey. Then there would be years of drought, leaving all of them wondering if the underground miracle of water would survive.
It was the very early days of the first week in May. In normal years — sometimes called “the old days” — she’d have already seen her early flowers. The garden would have moved on from crocus to daffodil and would now be full of Columbine and the green shoots of daylilies. The old lilac outback would be about to bloom.
But maybe, one more year, the earth would catch its breath and everything would grow again. Maybe the rivers would fill up and somehow, as if they too were seeds waiting to be born, fish would be there and snapping turtle. The geese and the swans and the herons would fish and flocks of ducks would magically float down with the current.
All she could do was wait and never give up hope. the Earth would come back. After all, it always had.
The King Brothers strode through the luxurious lobby of the grand Wilford Washington Hotel. It is a stately old hotel with all the modern amenities. Only the richest of the rich can stay at the Wilford, and the King Brothers were among the one percent that controlled most of the nation’s wealth. It was a particularly joyous night for the highly successful businessmen as they again used their business skills and wealth to get what they wanted.
Although they were knowledgeable and successful businessmen, Chauncey and Derrick King owed most of their wealth to inheritance. Their father discovered a new way of making energy. It was not the most environmentally responsible method, but it sure made a lot of money.
When old Farley King passed on, Chauncey and Derrick aced out two other brothers to grab control of the largest privately held corporation in the nation. Now they had their sights set on power. They wanted the sort of power that would assure continued success to their business as well as that of their friends. This meant no environmental controls that would limit their production.
The boys were all smiles as they moved to the elevators, one of which would take them to an exclusive penthouse party to celebrate victory. It was election night in the nation and everything was falling into place. Despite the massive price tag of their efforts, they were pleased with what their investment had purchased.
When the doors of the elevator opened, the King brothers found family, friends and a few carefully selected politicians on hand. They all had the opportunity to partake in the best drinks and hors d’oeuvre money could buy. Chauncey was partial to a particular wine from France, Pierre Jouet Champagne, at a mere $6,500 per bottle. The hotel secured a case of it just for the event.
Cal Rhodes came up to the boys with the latest good news. “We have won another one. Just one more and we will control the Senate as well as the House. There are victory celebrations in just about every one of the party campaign headquarters across the country.”
For all the money the brothers dumped into attack ads and digging up dirt on the other party, they felt they ought to win most of the battles. And win them they did, all night long.
The party went well past midnight as they all kept a careful eye on the western states. The laughing and joking and storytelling of the earlier hours had given way to watching election results. Giant screen televisions around the room had been playing FIX News all night, but now they turned up the sound so everyone could hear. The audience hung on the words of the political reporters they knew and loved.
Elections in Oregon and Idaho were unexpectedly close. While Oregon was supposed to be a battle, Idaho was considered “a lock” for the brothers prior to election night.
“What the hell is going on in Idaho?” Chauncey shouted at Cal.
“I’ll check it out,” was all Cal could say as he went back to working the phones, a task he normally relished. It would not be good for Cal or any of the architects of the Senate strategy if they did not pick up one of the remaining states.
The numbers on the election boards were moving agonizingly slowly. Derrick said to no one in particular, “No one lives in Idaho, how long can it take to count a few votes?” At just past one in the morning, Eastern time, the crowded roomful of conservatives heard the news they’d been waiting for.
“With 93 percent of the precincts reporting, FIX News projects the incumbent Senator from the state of Idaho has held off an unexpected challenge and will retain his seat.”
With that announcement, Chauncey ordered another bottle of his favorite champagne. “Give everyone a glass. Let’s toast this hard-fought, hard-bought victory.” They toasted until the wine was gone and the guests headed home or back to their rooms in the warm, friendly Wilford Washington Hotel.
Derrick went to Cal with hardiest congratulations.
“You know, Cal, it’s time we set our agenda for the next two years. We need to start working on it immediately. But let’s get a good night’s sleep first. We’ve all earned it.” With that, Cal got a big hug from both King brothers before heading downstairs to his room.
On the very next day, with the House and Senate in hand, the King brothers discussed who should be the candidate for the highest post in the land two years hence. Whoever they picked would become their anointed one, their monarch and would serve the brothers well.
They would send him off to live in a big white house. Congress would pass all the Kings’ proclamations and the brothers would live happily ever after.
Roy walked into the restaurant just after noon, about the same time as almost every other Saturday for the past ten years. He picked up a newspaper from a rack near the door and came inside. The sign in front of the register said “Please wait to be seated.”
“Oh, you can sit anywhere, hon,” the blonde haired waitress advised. She was on duty most Saturdays but Roy did not know her name and she did not know his. Their faces were familiar to one another but they never introduced themselves.
The restaurant was equally the same size to each side of the register. Roy took the first booth to the right, as was his usual custom. He set his cell phone down on the table and grabbed for a menu. A bus boy appeared with a glass of water, set it down and hurried away. Roy turned over the coffee cup on the table, as if to invite it to be filled. Then he perused the menu which he knew well.
As he waited for the waitress to arrive his phone buzzed the alert that he had received a message. Roy did not look down. A moment later it buzzed again, but Roy continued to ignore the phone. He knew who was sending him something on Messenger, and he would read it near the end of the day, as usual.
The waitress came to booth 1, filled Roy’s coffee cup, and then set the pot on the table. “What’ll it be, hon?” she inquired in a tired voice. At that she grabbed an order pad from her apron and a pencil from her blonde teased hair.
Roy looked up and thought that her hair style must have been in fashion 30 or more years earlier. He guessed bright blue eye lids were in vogue then too.
“I’ll have scrambled eggs and sausage with hash browns and toast,” Roy announced. It was his usual Saturday fare at the Golden Prize Restaurant.
“Links or patties?” the seasoned waitress asked.
“Uh…links.” Roy thought he must have had sausage patties last time, so a change was in order. In truth, little ever changed in Roy’s life, except for one recent event, of course.
His concentration on pork sausage choices was interrupted by another buzzing on the phone. He glanced down to have his suspicions confirmed. He knew what the message would say. He would read it later.
Soon the bus boy arrived with a coffee pot in hand, but Roy’s cup was full and the young man scurried away. Roy sipped his coffee, read through the sports section of the paper, and did not look at his phone.
Across the room he spied a couple with three young children. The youngest was just a toddler who could not sit still. Roy stared at the group and wondered how a family of 5 could afford to eat at the “family restaurant” at those prices. “I could buy a week’s groceries for what that meal will cost,” Roy thought. It was a bit of an exaggeration, but not far off the mark.
“Here ya go, hon,” the waitress announced as she artfully slid the coffee cup over to set down the large plate of eggs, sausage and hash browns and the small plate of toast. “Anything else, dear?”
“Nope,” Roy said automatically. There was something else, but it was not on the menu at the Golden Prize. In fact it could not be bought anywhere so Roy tried to keep it off his mind. His phone sitting in plain view was a reminder of his situation, however.
When the meal was finished, the waitress arrived with coffee pot in hand. “More coffee, hon?”
“Just a little,” Roy stated. The waitress filled his cup, put the check face down on the table and walked away. Roy sat motionless for a while, took a sip of coffee and then grabbed the check. He calculated 15 percent of the total in his head, so he would leave the appropriate tip in cash. Then grabbed his phone off the table and headed to the register.
The blonde waitress was leaning on the counter as if she was waiting for Roy to arrive. He handed her the check and his credit card. She handed back the receipt to sign and Roy was soon on his way home.
When he got home, Roy plugged in his phone to be charged and successfully ignored it the rest of the day. When the clock had passed 9pm, Roy picked up the phone to find the battery at 100 percent. He sat at the kitchen table, opened Messenger and began to read. It was basically the same message he had received every day that month.
“Baby, I am sorry I had to go. Things were not good for me and I needed to go away. I want for us to be friends, but I just could not stay any longer. I need more freedom. I hope you will understand and forgive me. Please bb.”
Roy read the short message a few times. He did not understand, so how could he? Each night he read the message received that day, thought it over carefully, but he just did not understand. If he could not understand, how could he forgive?
Roy sent no responses for over a month. Then the messages stopped coming.
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